


A Bad Day

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Monday Fix-Its [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Assassin Mary Morstan, Canon Divergence - The Empty Hearse, Evil Mary Morstan, John is smarter than he seems, Restaurant scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 09:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18149969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: Sherlock shows up at the Landmark, but he recognises the woman who is meeting John and proceeds... with caution.Monday Fix-its is a series of one-shots (or two-parters) that take a piece of cannon BBC Sherlock and fix it so that JohnLock would happen. It won't necessarily happen IN the story, but it is the aim or each of these stories. HEA for our boys is the priority.





	A Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is the **last** Monday Fix-it.  
> The winter is ending, the spring is coming, so hopefully any Monday we may have will become more optimistic from now on.  
> Thank you all for staying with me for the last 18 weeks!

"Sir, may I help you?"

Sherlock looked at the man fleetingly, but just shook his head in a negative answer.

"I'm looking for a friend," he explained softly. "I wanted to surprise him by coming to town earlier than he expected me to, but it seems he is planning a dinner here. I just wanted to check if he is in."

The man smiled at him in an perfunctorily apologetic way.

"I'm afraid we are very intent on the privacy of our customers, sir. I will have to ask you to leave."

Sherlock slowly, slowly breathed in.

"My friend is sitting at a table set for two and waiting for his dinner companion. I just need two minutes to check which table it would be and I can even..." he trailed off.

 _Her_.

The blue-eyed menace, the little viper, the cold-blooded...

He traced her with his eyes as she approached a table in the middle of the room and was seated by a waiter.

A blond-and-silver head tilted towards her as she smiled coyly and tittered. Sweetly.

He shuddered.

There was still time to call Mycroft and ask for help.

Or there wasn't.

"Sir, I will have to ask you to vacate the premises..."

A text message alert beeped.

"It's yours," Sherlock informed him, turning away from the sight of _her_ giggling over a glass of mediocre wine as she made sweet eyes at his best friend. "Your wife's labour has started."

The man frowned at him, but hurried away, pressing one of the waiters into the greeting job.

_Very well._

He glanced.

The soup had been served.

_Typically proposals happen at dessert, don't they?_

He caught the sleeve of the passing junior waiter.

"I need you to pass this note to the blond lady in lavender frock."

"The one that sits with that old bloke?" the waiter rolled his eyes. "And what's in it for me?"

"I will _not_ tell the pastry chef where the missing custard went and I will _not_ tell your boss that you're a hygiene hazard, with these nails and palms encrusted with soil... From your little, khm, urban gardening. Now, take this note and hand it to her. Hurry up."

From a safe distance, he watched her pick up the note with a frown and then purse her lips, annoyed. Good. Annoyed, she was much more prone to errors. Good.

He slipped around the pillar as soon as she was out of sight and took the chair she had vacated.

"This seat is tak..."

The words had obviously got stuck in John's throat as his mouth worked mutely for a moment, before he looked away and rubbed his eyes.

"What the fuck?" he finally murmured, voice gone all flat and weak. "I thought the meds were supposed to manage this..."

_Meds?_

"John, listen to me," he leaned closer. "You have to listen to me now. She will be back any time. You have to keep it together, for just a..."

"Ah," her voice was full of mirth as she adjusted her handbag strap. "I see. When I get a little suspicious note calling me outside, I tend to check what is happening around me. And here you are. Catching up with an old friend, John?"

"W-what?" John seemed honestly surprised.

That was somehow _very much not good_.

"You, and him," she nodded towards Sherlock. "Catching up, were you?"

John shook his head slowly, finally looking straight at Sherlock.

"You can see him?" his voice cracked at the last word and the little lizard smiled at the sound.

"Oh, John. So precious," her manicured hand came to rest on John's shoulder. The doctor winced slightly.

 _The wound_.

"He is _real_?" Sherlock heard him whisper, obviously bewildered. "He is _alive?_ "

"Well, not like she didn't try her best, did you, Rosalyn?"

A flicker of fury on her face matched the confusion and the realisation on John's, as he processed the whole situation.

_And let nobody tell you he is stupid._

"Not Mary?" he sighed.

"No, not _Mary_ ," Sherlock informed him gravely. "John Watson, please meet Moriarty's... left hand - Rosalyn Moran."

"Well," she said coolly. "I wouldn't want to be his _right_ hand, would I. Things he touched with it... yuck. Anyway. Nice chatting with you, Sherlock, but I'm afraid I had plans for this evening. Ones that don't include you..."

A few things happened almost at the same moment and later on Sherlock could never be sure if his Mind Palace image of it had not been corrupted by the breathtaking _beauty_ of it all.

John's eyes opening wide and catching his.

Rosalyn reaching for her handbag.

Someone at the table nearby turning with a shout.

A flash of a photo being taken.

John's elbow hitting Rosalyn's solar plexus.

John's opened palm smacking into Rosalyn's forearm.

Rosalyn's hand flying away from her bag.

A gun flying out of that hand.

People ducking.

Another flash.

Sherlock squinting.

John kneeling on Rosalyn's back, twisting both of her arms back and up.

John's eyes opening wide and catching his.

Perfect silence in the restaurant.

Not even clinking of a discarded glass.

"How... the fuck..." groaned the woman on the ground, trying to shake off the hold John had on her.

"You forgot he was a soldier, didn't you?" Sherlock asked casually, standing up and then crouching by her head.

"He is just a doctor! A lousy, limping, part-time GP! What the hell..."

John tightened his grip silently.

"He has bad days," Sherlock smiled at the frowning man in front of him. "Don't you, John?"

"Well," the answer finally came in a steady, if slightly hoarse voice. "This specific day wasn't looking all that good earlier, but it is shaping up to be a rather nice one, if I would dare to make a wild prediction."

**Author's Note:**

> I am taking a writing course and one of the tasks is to ask my readers to describe my writing style in 3 adjectives. I'd be grateful if you could provide this kind of feedback :)  
> (if you provided it already somewhere else - THANK YOU! :))
> 
> [You can find me on tumblr.](https://srebrnafh.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Or visit my blog.](https://fanfik.wordpress.com/)


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